Prince of Roses | ONC 2024

4.2 | Azalea

Balatero Station

Puerto Galera, Mindoro

2 February, 15:06

Lucas and I burst out into the hallway, where a woman is screaming her lungs out on the floor, her body unmoving like a puppet without strings.

"I c-can't move my arms!" she shrieks. "M-My legs! I can't move anything!"

I rush towards her immediately, kneeling beside her. In my peripheral vision, I see some of the passengers coming out of their rooms, probably wondering what the fuss was about.

Oh, boy. Here we go again.

"Ma'am," I say, my voice calm despite the goosebumps in my skin. "Can you tell me what happened?"

The woman, looking well in her fifties and still in her swimsuit, starts to bawl. Her tears streak across her fake tan, and I suppress the urge to laugh at her face. "I d-don't know. I was just about to get into my room w-when I smelled something sweet and I just—fell."

"What exactly did you smell?" Lucas asks, settling beside me.

As the woman begins to ramble, I look around. The passengers have their phones trained on us like a bunch of amateur paparazzi. Even if they were amateur, they still are causing trouble by spreading things on the Internet, and I can't afford an international incident to break the news.

I stand up to address the passengers. "Everyone, please get back into your rooms. There's nothing to see here."

"What happened to her?" one of them asks. "Is she poisoned?"

"No," I answer quickly. "She's fine. She only needs medical attention."

"I bet it's the same thing that got the senator," another one comments.

That draws a few gasps, and the chatter among the crowd grows louder. The rest turn their attention back to me.

"What's going to happen to us? Are we going to end up like her and the senator?"

"Wait, isn't she the one who shot that crazy woman yesterday?"

"Seems like it. What did she do now?"

"This is too much for a train ride. This is gonna be our last stop."

The weight of their gazes—some questioning, some confused and scared—lodges something hard in my chest. My vision flickers. Pressure builds up inside of me, and suddenly I'm like a bottle full of soda threatening to burst.

"Hey, look at me."

A pair of callous hands wrap around my trembling ones, and I find myself holding onto them as if I'm on a cliff and about to fall. Lucas turns me around to face him, his expression etched with concern. His eyes pierce right through me, and I stare back.

"Inhale," he says slowly. "Exhale."

I obey, taking a couple of deep breaths through my nose and mouth. In and out. In and out.

My heart steadies. I start to look back behind us, but he stops me.

"But—"

"Don't mind them," Lucas tells me. "We'll help the poor lady to the clinic then go to Mr. dela Cruz."

"O-Okay," I stutter out.

Hauling the woman up to her feet and slinging her arms over each of our shoulders, Lucas and I drag her away from the milling crowd. The hallway widens when we reach the end of the suite carriage. The clinic, its door elegantly decorated with the word, is only up ahead.